Combat
by Smiley Killaz
Summary: When man and monster meet, face to face, which will be the one to walk away?


The door came off it's hinges, throwing splinters in an explosion of broken wood, and the zombie stepped through the barrier. The walking rot stood there in the doorway, as the prey it had been seeking raised a pistol. The man the zombie had been chasing took aim, dead center of the dead man's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

That horrible noise was all that rewarded him. Now, too little too late, he noticed that the slide of the pistol had locked back, unable to pull any more bullets from the empty magazine. He had emptied the clip and didn't even realize it. He kicked himself mentally for making such a foolish mistake. He refused to move, even the slightest flinch, for fear it would set the beast off, who was currently staring him down. He quickly scanned the room for a possible exit route.

There was just one, and the living corpse was blocking it.

He still had one clip left, in it's home on his waist, but he had no time to reload the gun before the cadaver would be on him. He still had his knife, an eight inch razor edged blade, but that was going to be a last resort.

All he could do was hope he could reload before the dead man would be on him. The monster peeled it's dead lips back, unsheathing it's putrid decaying teeth. For a single moment, in the calm before the coming storm, He wondered how the beast could still be a threat with it's teeth rotting out of it's head. He wondered how it could possibly pierce his flesh with such poor dental health. None of this mattered, of course, for he knew it didn't matter how weak the teeth of an infected human seemed, they would still rip through skin, and spill poison into veins.

Determination came over him. This was not going to be where his end met him. Just one Infected was not going to be the end of him. Of that much, he swore.

Moving as quickly as he could, he ejected the spent magazine in his pistol, and reached for the final one resting at his waist. That was when his entire world exploded into action. The dead man roared at the sudden burst of motion, and charged just as he had managed to get the clip locked into the pistol's grip.

He wasn't ready for it.

It's speed, even through years of death, was staggering, and he wasn't able to react in time as the pile of bad meat plowed into him. His wind was forced out, and he lost grip on his piece. The weapon skittered off, out of reach down the hallway, useless to him now.

Luckily, the dead man had been stunned for a moment as well. He jumped on the opportunity, swung the beast up, pinned it against the wall, and grabbed it by it's neck quickly, insuring distance between him and the teeth that would bring his death. He released one of his hands from the death grip he had on the dead neck, and drew his knife. He aimed to impale the beast through the soft flesh underneath it's jaw.

The wildly thrashing arms of the monstrosity proved this wouldn't work, as one of them caught the knife, and knocked it out of his hand. The blade clattered off, and was forgotten. He was now completely unarmed. All he had left was his bare hands, and he was going to make use of them.

He brought the beast's head back as far as he dared, and slammed it into the wall. A satisfying 'whack', and the wall held strong. It seems that a blind stroke of luck ensured that a stud rested behind the sheetrock in the exact spot he was forcing the monster's head against.

The beast growled, more in annoyance than anything. He repeated the process, bashing the corpse's head into the wall three more times. Then, the dead man grew smart, and swung it's fist into his face.

The crunch of the breaking cartilage in his nose filled his ears, and pain filled his senses. Blood began streaming out of his nostrils, making breathing a bit difficult. He was distracted for a single second, and that was all that it needed. The monster pushed him with all the strength it could, and sent him to the floor.

He hit the ground hard, his head whipping against the rotting wood. His world closed in, but he fought unconsciousness off as the rot pile eyed him down, screaming wildly at it's advantage. It charged, only to have him plant his foot on it's chest, and push it back hard. It flew back, crashing against the wall with enough force to cave a section of the plaster in. He leaped up, ready for the charge that he knew was coming.

A roar sounded from the mindless corpse, and it came. It was moving too fast again, and he knew he could use it to his advantage. When it was so close he knew it wouldn't be able to stop, he sidestepped, and kicked it's legs out from under it. The dead man crashed loudly to the floor, it's fighting roars silenced for but a moment.

It was stunned.

Now was the time. He turned the beast over, and leapt on top of it. He pressed his forearm down on it's neck, and smashed his fist into it's rotted face. The skin on it's cheek split and tore, but the bone beneath held strong. The monster tried to buck him off, but he planted his knees on either side of it's torso, refusing to let the fiend get the upper hand.

He threw another punch, a powerful enough strike to bring unconsciousness to any human, but this beast acted as though it were nothing more than a light breeze gracing it's face. It was thrashing about like a rabid bull, but he still refused to be moved. He was drawing back his fist, ready to launch one more attack, when a bit of light hit his eye. He looked to the source, and saw a slice of heaven.

His fallen knife, forgotten until this point, was gleaming in the light coming from the board-covered window.

Even better, it rested only ten feet from where the battle continued. He threw one more punch, then leapt up, and dived for the weapon. He hit the ground, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as his hand closed around the knife, and he brought himself up to a crouch.

The monstrosity was up in only a fraction of a second, snarling in frustration. No prey had ever caused it this much trouble. The fiend charged again, stupidly. The infected had absolutely no sense of strategy whatsoever. They just keep coming, never realizing hidden attacks that could be waiting for them. Such as the case was here.

He waited for the perfect moment, and refused to strike a moment early. Taking out an Infected wasn't easy with a gun, and it was damn near suicide to do with a knife. He had to be careful with this, and he was going to use the same tactic he used earlier.

The fiend was now within five feet of him, and had no hope of stopping now. He dodged to the side, and brought a powerful kick to the decaying man's knees, much harder this time. The old bones couldn't handle the attack, and broke audibly. The monster screamed, almost in surprise, and plummeted to the ground.

He jumped on it fast, aiming the blade dead in the middle of the rot's forhead. With the amount of adrenaline flowing through his viens, splitting the beast's skull would be easy. With both hands, he brought the blade down as fast and as hard as he could. The infected man bucked it's torso at the last second, sending his aim off just barely, but it was enough. The blade landed hard in the wood of the floor, burying it three inches deep.

He quickly wrapped a hand around the dead man's neck to keep those horrible teeth from his flesh. With his other hand, he jerked the blade as hard as he could, hoping it would come unlodged, but it did not. The monster was moving erradically, trying to buck him off, but he planted himself and refused to be moved. He gave the knife several more jerks, almost desperately trying to regain his weapon, but it didn't budge. He gave up hope, and let the weapon sit. He knew of only one more way to kill an infected without a weapon. And it might be the most gruesome way to kill anything. It didn't matter, though, it had to be done.

So, he gripped both sides of the creature's head.

Both of his thumbs hovered over it's permanently bloodshot eyes for a moment. Time slowed down in the room, as it seemed both opponents knew that the fight was over. He screamed a battle cry, and forced his thumbs down onto it's eyes. The beast was struggling, but it was useless. All it had left was two useless legs, and two arms that without sight couldn't seem to find their target. Still, it thrashed about as much as it could, as the pressure on it's eyes grew.

He grunted again, pushing down harder. The eyes popped like over sized grapes, one after the other, and his thumbs were granted entry into the inside of it's cranium. He could feel his thumbs scraping the dead brain behind them. He forced his entire weight down onto the two appendages, praying to feel the organ give way.

The eyeless fiend wasn't making it easy, shaking about wildly and screaming. If he didn't know better, he'd say that his enemy was in incredible pain, knowing that it's end was finally upon it. He couldn't care less. This wasn't someone that still had a life, a family, and loved ones. This was a monster, one that the world would be better off without, and that nobody would miss.

A wet squish, and his thumbs were knuckle deep in gray matter.

The fight was over. The beast stopped struggling, screaming, and moving altogether. It's arms stopped searching for it's opponent, and fell to the floor. After an untold amount of time, a second death was granted to a monster that was once human. He withdrew his thumbs, and chuckled as he looked down at himself. He was almost completely covered in blood, only a small fraction of it his own, from the broken nose he'd suffered.

He took a knee next to the stationary corpse, and gripped his knife hilt with both hands. He gritted his teeth, and with a mighty jerk, he managed to dislodge the weapon. He fell into a heap on the floor, and stared at it's battered blade. He replayed the fight in his head, grimly counting how many times he'd come close to being bit. He'd flirted with death today. And he gave the bitch the slip yet again.

"They can't ever make it easy." His gruff voice mused, and he smirked. He touched his broken nose with his thumb and index finger. He sighed, and popped it back into place. His face contorted in pain, but he didn't cry out. He could ignore pain fairly well. He just had to remind himself sometimes.

A noise coming from outside caught his attention. The sound was one he'd learned well since the world had changed so drastically.

It was the screams of a person gripped with fear.

He managed to make it over to the window that had been boarded up and look out. He saw several men dressed in rags looking messy and uncut advancing toward the building he was in. One of them was cleaning a machete on the clothes of a decapitated body, that only a few seconds ago was screaming in fear. The machete wielding man looked up at the window, and smiled.

"Fuck." He cursed, and turned from the window. He ran to the door, grabbing his forgotten pistol that lay in the hallway, half reloaded, and ran for his life. It seemed, that in a future so bleak, the infected weren't the only threats the world had to offer..


End file.
